Cold
by Bella5
Summary: Meet the second generation of the Malfoy's - Draco's only child and daughter Elisabette, currently attending Hogwarts with none other than Harry Potter's son James. An accident pushes them together, and they find themselves bonding in an uncomfortable way


"Elisabette."

A strange noise sounded in the back of Elisabette Malfoy's throat, and she spun around in her chair, her gold hair spinning out around her. Her heart stopped beating as she saw her father leaning against the doorframe. How long had he been watching her scribbling furiously in her diary? And for that matter, how long had he been home?

"Father," she said with forced calm. The nervousness showed clearly in her voice. 

Her father stood up straight and walked slowly towards her, never taking his cold, gray eyes off her. He stopped when he was next to her, and before Elisabette could do anything, he had snatched the diary off the table in front of her. She squeezed her eyes shut in complete dread, and then popped them open. "Please," she whispered.

Draco Malfoy looked at her, cold amusement creeping over his pointed face. He hadn't opened the diary, for which she was thankful. "My, my, Elisabette, you never told your father you kept a diary."

Elisabette said nothing, keeping her face in a cold mask. She hadn't kept a diary ever, until now, until things in her life began shaking…

"Perhaps this holds the answers to your behavior, hmm?" 

Elisabette's heart stopped beating, but then started up again rapidly. Had he been spying on her? Thoughts whirled through her head, and yet her face betrayed nothing – the only thing she had learned from her father that was actually useful – _don't give away your emotions. "My behavior, Father?"_

"Yes. Your mother reports that you've been quite skittish this past week." His voice was cold, cruel. 

"Skittish?"

"Yes…Almost as though you were doing something that we wouldn't approve of." 

She bit her cheek hard and stood, a sudden burst of courage spurting through her. She almost demanded to have it back, but realized that would be a serious tactical error – _don't let him know it's important. Even though he knew already._

Draco was slowly moving his fingers over the diary, still looking at her. "Hmm…I wonder what I'd find out if I took this with me and skimmed it? I'm sure you don't mind."

A spasm of fear shook Elisabette. _No…He'll kill me if he reads it…_

He saw her face before she could cover it up, and smiled cruelly, standing up straight and tucking the journal into his pocket. "You understand me doing this, of course. I must know what my dear daughter is getting up to."

He left, slamming the door behind him. Elisabette sank to the floor slowly, her eyes pinned to the shut door, unseeing. "Oh my God," she whispered, and put a hand up to her forehead. She was never going to be able to see him again – Draco would kill her…

~*~*~*~*

Draco Malfoy sat down at his desk, feeling extremely pleased with himself. He had scared his daughter to death – he didn't really think she was doing anything bad…But the way she had looked when he tucked her diary into his pocket had sparked his curiosity. What _was she up to?_

He pulled the slim black book out of his pocket and opened it to the first page. Her neat, elegant handwriting filled the page. Slowly he sat back, ready to read.

30th December

This is the first diary I've ever kept – I think it might be a solution to what I feel. I'm sick of lying, and I'm going to put nothing but the truth in this book. 

I'll describe myself, I suppose first, completely and totally. When I look in the mirror, I see a girl of seventeen with golden blond hair and light blue eyes. My cheeks are hollow – a little too hollow, if you ask me – and my skin is so pale it nearly glows.

Mentally, I've changed. I used to be proud of my family, proud of their history – proud of the work my father did for the dark side. I was immensely proud of Slytherin house, and hated all Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and especially Gryffindors – Potter lovers, all of them. I was excruciatingly popular, and always got whatever I wanted. I had many friends, my closest being my fellow year-mates, Talia Friedericks and Jocelyn Callarde. I thought I couldn't find better people. It all changed, however, when I made a new friend. 

A friend. Is he? Can I call him that without lying?

I've known him all my life, and yet I had never spoken to him before. I hated him – hated him with such a passion that I had a hard time controlling myself sometimes…I knew why I hated him, of course – until I figured out it wasn't _me hating him, it was my father through me. He taught me never to befriend a Gryffindor, especially one of the three Potter's at my school , who included William, the youngest (a first year), Eleanor (a very pretty fourth year), and lastly, James – my year mate. "Never touch one, never talk to one, you hear me? If you do, you'll soon live to regret it," Father told me. _

I've done just the opposite. 

Where to begin my story? I suppose the first time I ever touched him would be appropriate, which also happened to be the first time I talked to him. I was walking out of the Great Hall after dinner one night, Talia and Jocelyn flanking me, when-

~*~*~*~*

WHAM.

"Ugh!" Elisabette exclaimed, loosing her balance and tipping over.

"Whoops, I'm sorry," someone – a male someone – said with concern and surprise, grabbing her waist. She steadied herself and then looked up into the face of the person who had saved her.

Her breath caught. People who were standing in the entrance hall stopped and stared, their mouths flapping open.

Elisabette Malfoy was in the arms of James Potter.

His dark eyes betrayed none of her full-fledged panic and made no move to let go of her. Her skin was tingling where he was touching her, and her heart began to pound. He was extremely handsome.

But also the son of Harry Potter.

Elisabette shoved away from him and said the first sentence she had ever said to him: "Get the hell away from me, Potter."

James's eyebrows raised slightly. She didn't like the way he was looking at her. She didn't like it at all. Her training kicked in, however, and she schooled her face into a cold mask. "Don't touch me again, Potter." Her girl friends backed her up with menacing stares, while his Gryffindor friends stood a little ways behind him, all looking astonished.

Anger flashed across his chiseled face – where there had been amusement, his eyes were now dark with fury. "You're welcome for catching you, Malfoy."

"Like I would thank you," she snapped.

He looked at her slightly incredulously, and narrowed his eyes. "You really are like they say you are."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah – cold, heartless." He turned to the people behind him, ignoring the rush of whispers going through the crowd (and it really was a crowd) assembled. "C'mon."

He turned and left her feeling extremely cold. Her girl friends broke into chatter, as did the rest of the school. 

"God, bloody Gryffindors," Talia snapped, wrinkling her nose. 

"Disgusting," Jocelyn agreed. "So damn brave all the time. They are so fake!"

Elisabette found herself nodding, but her heart was still pounding. It was just because he touched her for the first time, though, and she hated him. Right?

~*~*~*~*  
  


Things were fine after that, like Elisabette thought they would be. People gossiped for a little about it, but finally got over it. In the meantime, Elisabette had taken to glaring coldly at James Potter as she brushed past him in the halls. He always smelled so good, and gave her tingles as she rudely shoved him aside. Afterwards she would hear him cursing after her, and the snickers of the group of girls that always surrounded her, but always her thoughts were a muddle. Did she actually _like brushing past him?_

No, of course not, she insisted to herself, but she soon found herself looking out for him in the corridors, much against her will.

One day, though, in late September, something occurred that was quite a shock – Elisabette was late to Charms and running down a seemingly deserted corridor, watching her feet, when someone knocked rudely into her. Her books went spilling to the floor, as did she.

"God_damnit_," she snapped, ready to blow whomever did this to pieces – literally (she was _extremely late), when someone cut her off._

"Language, Malfoy."

Elisabette seriously considered taking her wand and performing _Avada__ Kedavra on herself right then and there._

However, as always, she masked her emotions and forced herself to look up into James Potter's dark, sparkling eyes. They were slightly amused, which made her angry and puzzled at the same time. She wrenched her Charms book out of his hands and glared at him. "Thanks for hitting me, Potter."

"Hey, you do it to me every day," he said, raising his eyebrows.

Elisabette looked at him coldly. He had the upper hand and she hated him all the more for it. With as much dignity she could muster she stood, grabbed her quill from him, and walked away. She couldn't resist looking back at him over her shoulder – his shoulders were shaking. She slowed to a stop and stared at him – he was _laughing._

"What are you doing?" she exclaimed angrily.

"Laughing at you," he said, a snort of laughter coming out of his nose.

Elisabette was floored. No one had ever, ever laughed at her. No one had ever had the guts to do it – and no one had had a reason to, either.

"Excuse me?" she repeated dumbly.

He walked towards her. "D'you – d'you want to go for a walk?" he blurted. He looked extremely surprised at what had just come out of his mouth.

Elisabette's jaw nearly hit the floor. "_What? A walk?"_

"Er, never mind," he said lamely, blushing. "Forget it." James turned and walked in the opposite direction.

"Potter!"

He turned. "Yeah?"

She walked slowly towards him, not believing she was going to skive off class for a Potter. "Tell me why you were laughing at me."

~*~*~*~*

That day it began – when I started to think that perhaps James Potter wasn't the monster I'd always envisioned him to be. I started to question my father's judgment – his and the judgment of all my friends. They didn't even know James, yet they denounced him because he was a Potter. I was scared at the thoughts surfacing in my head.

That day he began to melt my icy heart.

~*~*~*~*

Tap, tap.

Elisabette's brows snapped together irritably, but she ignored the tapping sound as she concentrated on her essay about magical animal evolution.

Yet the tapping continued, until she thought her head would burst. She stood up angrily and strode to the window to her right, ready to kill the owl that was doubtless out there – and screamed. She clapped a hand to her mouth and her eyes widened. James Potter was hovering outside her window on a broomstick. 

She looked quickly over her shoulder before unlatching the window and pushing it up. James glided in and landed neatly in the center of her dormitory.

"What do you think you're doing?" she exclaimed. "You'll be killed, really!"

"Shh," he whispered. "C'mon."

"Come on what?" she shrieked quietly.

"Get on, Malfoy," he said exasperatedly.

"Oh, yes, right," she said sarcastically, "as if I'd ever get on a broom with you, Potter."

"Come on. Have you ever been flying?"

Elisabette swallowed. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because my father told me I had no place on a broomstick."

"God _almighty!"_

"Shut up!" she said frantically, pushing her fingers to her lips. "Look, I'm not getting on that broom with you."

"Grab a coat and get on."

She put her hands on her hips stubbornly. "I most certainly will _not!"_

"Why?"

"Well, because – because I hate spontaneity!" 

"Then why did you come on a walk with me yesterday in the first place? If I'm anything it's spontaneous."

"Quit flattering yourself, Potter," Elisabette snapped.

James sighed and went to her closet. He pulled out her black cloak and slung it around her shoulders. She grabbed onto it to keep it from sliding off of her, and James took the opportunity to grab her around the waist and put her in front of him on the broomstick.

~*~*~*~*

Flying was amazing. He took me again when he saw how much I loved it – nearly twice a week. 

I couldn't believe what was happening to me, how I felt around him – I felt like someone finally was seeing me for me, and not a Malfoy, whether they thought well of my family or not. I began snapping at my fellow Slytherins when they made a remark against James or his friends without thinking, and quickly covered it up. They never questioned me, though, and still don't – that's the only time these days that I'm grateful for my family. No one suspected a thing, which wasn't hard to believe – James and I still ignored each other in public and were extremely careful when we met to talk. And it really was just talk, I promise. No physical contact at all…Not that I don't ever wonder…

He has the most remarkable things – an Invisibility Cloak from his father as well as this intriguing map that shows everyone in the castle as little labeled dots. I never knew there were so many secret passages in Hogwarts! 

He told me the things used to belong to his grandfather, who he's named after. It's so hard for me to think about James' family – about who his parents and grandparents are and were. We stay away from family talk at all costs.

How long do I think this will last, you're wondering? I don't know. Forever, I hope, which is the complete and total truth.

And oh, you'll never believe this…He kissed me. We were saying goodbye in an empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express, and he handed me a flower – but not just any flower: a lily. His grandmother's name. I shall save it for ever and ever. Anyway, he presented me with this flower, and looked at me with this expression that made me melt – it was…Well, I don't want to say what I saw in his eyes, because it terrifies me. _Terrifies me._

Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to my forehead, and was gone. My heart was going mad – I couldn't think of anything coherent.

Just in these past few days have I been thinking about consequences. My father

It ended abruptly – Draco guessed that was when he had come in, but he wasn't thinking about that now. All he was thinking about was how to beat his daughter into being so scared that she never, ever looked at Potter again…

~*~*~*~*

"Look at him, Gin! He's doing it again!"

Ginny Potter snorted and didn't turn around. She was busy dusting off the mantelpiece, and she swatted at her husband when he shook her shoulder. "Ginny, look!"

"Harry! Stop it!" Ginny whispered, turning around and looking at him sternly. "Leave him alone."

He looked at her reproachfully. "Well, do you know what's wrong with him?" he asked a few minutes later. "Because you sure don't seem curious."

"I have an idea," his wife replied loftily. 

"Would you mind sharing it?" Harry muttered. "You know, strictly parent-to-parent?"

Ginny smiled her secret little smile – the one James, their eldest son, had inherited from her – and her dark eyes sparkled. "Come here," she whispered, darting a glance over her shoulder and taking Harry's hand. James was staring out into space, a dreamy smile on his face. 

Ginny pulled Harry into the hall. "He's in love, Harry," she said quietly.

Harry's jaw dropped. "He is _not! He's too __young to be in love!"_

"And how old were you, Mister Potter, when you fell in love with me?" She tapped him on the chest with her feather duster. "Think about it, darling," she said, smiled, and disappeared.

Harry stared at the wall opposite him. In love? James, in love?

Ginny did have a point, however much he didn't want to admit it. James was almost eighteen, the same age Harry was when he fell in love with Ginny…Harry snuck a peek around the wall. James was grinning like a fool at the Christmas tree.

"Daddy?"

His only daughter, Eleanor, was coming down the stairs. Harry beamed at her. He just couldn't get over how much his fourteen year old (who still called him Daddy – hopefully she always would) had grown in the months while she had been at school. She was absolutely beautiful – Sirius and Remus swore up and down she was a carbon copy of Lily (dark red hair and bright green eyes – _Harry's eyes. He knew he spoiled her, but she deserved it, didn't she?)._

An idea struck him suddenly. Ella lived with James, didn't she? So surely she would have noticed anything fishy about him? He needed a second opinion anyway.

"Ella, love, come here a moment, won't you?"

She looked at him curiously, but obligingly crossed the entrance hall and looked at him. "What's the matter, Daddy?"

"Darling, have you noticed anything – well, _strange about your brother lately?"_

Ella raised her eyebrows. "Which one?"

"Oh – James." Harry peered anxiously over his shoulder at James and then looked back at Ella.

She rolled her eyes. "He's _so out of it."_

"Well, your mother – your mother seems to think-"

"That he's in love?" she interrupted. She turned pensive. "Of course he is, I knew that."

"But-"

"The question is," Ella continued as though he had never spoken, "with whom?"

"You don't know?" Harry asked, disappointment flooding over him.

Ella shook her head apologetically. "I dunno. I never really see him that much, except back in the common room."

"And you don't think Will would know anything?"

"He's a _first year, Daddy," Ella said. "If I don't know, he certainly doesn't."_

Harry nodded. "You're right, love."

She smiled widely. "I'm so happy to be home," she sighed, and hugged him. He hugged her back, finally coming to a decision about James – he would confront him, man to man.

~*~*~*~*

"James," Harry called casually after dinner, "how 'bout we go for a walk?"

James looked surprised as he got up from the table, but nodded. "Er, okay, Dad."

Together father and son walked through the house and into the entrance hall, grabbing their cloaks and leaving the house. They walked in silence for a little while through the path in the woods behind their house, until Harry broke it.

"School's going well, then?"

"Yeah – yeah, really well."

"That's good."

Silence.

"Alright, James, I'm going to say this straight out," Harry said finally, stopping to look at him. They were eye to eye. "You've been acting quite abnormal lately, and your mother and sister think it's due to the fact that you're in love."

James's eyes widened, and instead of blushing, the color drained from his face. "What?"

"I told them!" Harry insisted, "I _told them it wasn't true!"_

He didn't notice James's guilty look, and the emotions playing tag with his features.

~*~*~*~*

"This is mad, James, absolutely mad," Elisabette said, her teeth chattering, hugging herself. They stood opposite each other on the skirts of the ForbiddenForest back at Hogwarts. 

"When else could I say hello?" James questioned, looking at her with his eyebrows raised. "Hey, you called me James."

She glared at him, embarrassed, but not showing it. "It's your name, isn't it?"

He squinted in the dark, peering at her. "What's that on your face?" he asked, taking a few steps towards her.

"Er," she said, stepping backwards. He was a bit too close. Oh, how she ached – mentally and physically. The thing he was peering at was a careless slap that Draco had let out, surprising her – he was always extremely careful to not show his beatings on skin that couldn't be covered, like her face. 

His face was concerned – an expression she could count on one hand how many

times it had been directed at her – and he stepped towards her again. This time 

she didn't move away.

His cold hand felt like heaven on her hot cheek as he cupped it, looking intently at the bruise. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the loving contact – something she had _never experienced, besides the kiss he had planted on her forehead the day she left for the holiday. _

She started violently when he made a noise of outrage and shook her shoulders. "Elisabette!"

She only dimly noticed that was the first time he had called her by her first name – she was busy backing away and covering her cheek.

"Someone hit you!" he nearly yelled, fury coming over his face.

"Shh, James, please!" she pleaded, tears stinging her eyes. "Please…don't tell. I beg you."

"It was him, wasn't it? The man you call father?"

Elisabette felt something spread over her at that moment, something that made her dizzy – James cared for her. He cared about her. She had never been cared about before. Her breath caught, and she stared at him in a whole new light. "You – you care about me," she whispered.

He looked slightly surprised. "Of course I do."

Elisabette felt faint, and she put her hand out to steady herself. "I – I've never…"

He looked at her with alarm. "Are you alright?"

She stood still for a moment, her eyes closed, and when she opened them, James gasped. The emotions on her face were so plan and simple for a second, before she closed them off again – they showed a mix of gratitude and trust. He reached up and touched the bruise on her face tenderly, and a spasm of anger shook him.

"Why?" he whispered. 

She closed her eyes briefly, relishing his touch. "He knows – knows about us."

"How?" James asked, fighting the impulse to take her into his arms. What was happening to him?

"Read my diary."

"You keep a diary?"

"I do now."

"Oh."

To her horror, Elisabette felt tears well up in her eyes. She turned slightly away from him and stared into the forest, trying to figure out a discreet way to wipe them before they spilled over…

She felt them slide down her cheeks a second later – too late.

Then her head was being gently turned, and she was facing James head on. Her breath caught slightly at the tender look in his eyes as he gently wiped her tears with his thumbs. 

_He's going to kiss me, Elisabette thought wildly, looking up at him, slightly shocked. Sure enough, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips. It was over so quick that Elisabette didn't even have time to close her eyes, and then she was being folded into his arms. She didn't know how long they stayed like that – clinging to each other on the edge of the forest – but she did know one thing: she definitely wasn't cold anymore._


End file.
